Of Monsters and Bruises
by stranded chess piece
Summary: Hurting after a testing mission, Clay has a confrontation with his father. His brothers are there to back him up. (Please read warning on this one). Set sometime between Mexico and Manila, season 2.


**This one is for Maureen, who left a comment on Swan Dive – sorry I couldn't PM you, you don't have an account :) I also agree that there's a lot of hurt between Clay and his father. And I agree with the speculation that perhaps there was some sort of abuse going on. Hopefully we get more of an insight into Clay's childhood (or lack thereof) this coming season! So I'm going to slap a ****warning**** on this one, because the last thing I want to do is trigger anyone. This fic mentions child abuse. I don't go into details, but it's still referred to. Thanks for reading :)**

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"You really lived up to your name back there, Bam Bam," Sonny drawled, leaning back on the bench seat beside Clay, beer in hand.

Clay huffed, eyes distant, lost in thought.

"About done," Trent announced from his other side, as he finished checking and redressing the gash on Clay's forearm.

Clay glanced at the nasty cut.

"Pretty impressive knife wound there, kiddo," Sonny commented. His words were light, but his tone was heavy.

Clay worked his jaw, clenching against the sting. "Yeah, well. Should've seen the other guy."

Trent blew out a breath, fixing the new bandage in place. "I _did_ see the other guy," he commented. "_And_ his friends." He pinned Clay with a steady look. "Impressive hand-to-hand. But you're damned lucky you didn't come off worse."

Clay stretched his back, trying but failing to loosen his aches. He'd had no choice – it was either kill or be killed. He eyed Sonny's beer. God, he needed a drink.

"Nu-uh," Trent said, following Clay's gaze. "Painkillers, remember? No alcohol for you."

Sonny drained the rest of his beer, smacking his lips. "Ah," he teased. "Think I'll go get me another one. That hit the spot."

Clay gave his best stink eye.

The Texan pushed himself to his feet. "Quit pouting, Goldilocks."

Clay kicked out a leg, trying to trip Sonny. "Quit with the nicknames," he countered.

Sonny nimbly dodged the boot.

"Go lay down," Trent suggested, eyeing their youngest team mate and gathering the last of his medical bits and pieces. "You look pale. Can't have you toppling over."

Clay's arm throbbed, as if agreeing with the medic, and his head joined in. He'd taken more than a few punches and kicks, and now that the adrenalin rush had worn off he was feeling every bruise. Perhaps laying down wasn't such a bad idea.

"You gonna make me go to the infirmary when we land?" he asked Trent. _Please don't_.

"I should," came the reply.

"Don't want to." _Wound's not that bad_.

Trent breathed a sigh, shook his head, mumbled, "Of course you don't."

Clay gave his best pleading look.

After a moment Trent gave up on him, waved him off. "You're lucky it wasn't too deep."

Clay let out the breath he'd been holding. He hated the infirmary.

"But you're not driving home," Trent told him sternly.

Clay nodded slowly. "Deal." Sonny had already offered to drive him.

Trent waited a moment, as if expecting further argument. Seemed pleased when none came. "Go lay your ass down though," he ordered. "Before I change my mind."

"Copy that," Clay replied. The painkillers were making him drowsy anyway, and if he was honest with himself, he felt like being alone.

Stiffly, he moved off towards the nearest hammock.

Trent's gaze followed him all the way.

Once Clay was horizontal, Bravo Four finally wandered off to find a well-deserved beer.

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Clay startled awake, nearly toppled out of the hammock.

He'd been dreaming.

Lifting his left arm to glance at his watch, he winced as his torn skin pulled, reminding him that someone had tried to slice him up.

Groaning, he blinked at the ceiling of the C-17, listening to the engines rumble around him. They had another hour before they were due to land. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, wanting nothing more than to be at home in his own bed.

This mission had really done a number on him.

He'd spent a bit of time thinking about why it had got to him so badly. He'd dealt with similar situations before, but this one had really got under his skin, ignited a spark and had made him see red.

He scrubbed his eyes again, blinking away the image of the children they had rescued. Some had been as young as five or six. The conditions in which they had found them had been appalling. And each and every one of them had been battered and bruised, little eyes wide with fear and desperation.

Clay's stomach clenched and rolled.

Those poor kids hadn't done anything wrong. They hadn't deserved what life had handed them. They were completely helpless and at the mercy of monsters. And the worst part? Their parents had _sold_ them. By _choice_.

Clay wobbled upright, feeling a cold sweat settle over him and worrying that if he didn't get himself vertical, his stomach would revolt.

They'd rescued the kids. They were safe. They wouldn't be hurt any more.

So why, as they left Columbia further and further behind them, did Clay feel so haunted? He needed to pull himself together. He didn't usually feel this rattled after a mission.

Perhaps it was the fact that he'd been ambushed whilst perched on a rooftop, providing cover for his brothers as they'd herded the children towards exfil, with Ray on an opposite perch. He'd had both his guns knocked away and had had to resort to hand-to-hand. It had never been his strongest point, but he'd managed to take out five men. He'd been fueled by a fire that had burned within him, picturing the kids faces as he'd fought.

He'd rid the world of five barbaric monsters.

So why didn't that feel like enough?

"How's the arm?"

Clay startled, heart pounding. He hadn't even noticed Jason approach. God, he was really malfunctioning.

Jason's expression was concerned. "You okay?"

Clay did his best to compose his nerves, swung his legs over the side of the hammock and settled his feet firmly on the floor, grounding himself.

Jason's eyes narrowed.

Clay drew a breath, cleared his throat. "Yeah," he stated, trying for confident but the word came out strained.

Jason chewed his lip, accepted the response. But his eyes didn't leave the younger man. "Quite a stunt you pulled off back there," he commented.

Clay squared his shoulders, braced for the lecture.

But it didn't come. The Master Chief just nodded again. "Might give Sonny a run for his money in a bar fight."

Clay faltered a moment, twitched half a smile.

"Glad you're okay," Jason said soberly, eyeing the bandage.

Clay nodded jerkily. Yep. He was okay.

(Nope, he really _wasn't_ okay.)

Jason clapped him gently on the shoulder. "Good work, kid," he said genuinely. And then he went to walk away, but after a few steps he stopped, reconsidering. He turned back, his expression unreadable. "But can we agree that you never do anything like that again?"

Clay huffed tiredly. "You rather I let them kill me next time?"

Jason levelled him with a look. "Not what I meant, smartass."

"I'll do my best," Clay promised.

Jason waited a beat, then added. "And I'll do my best not to put you in that position again." His words were weighed with guilt. "I shouldn't have sent you high on your own," he admitted. "That was bad call on my part. And it could have ended a lot worse than it did."

Clay thought back to the moment Jason was referring to. They'd been stretched thin. They'd done the best they could, given the circumstances. "I would have made the same call," he admitted. "It was the right call to make, at the time."

A small amount of tension seemed to leave Jason's body. He worked his jaw, considering the response. Nodded. But didn't look entirely convinced.

Clay squeezed a small, reassuring smile. It didn't reach his eyes.

Jason blew out a breath. "Okay," he said eventually, running a hand through his hair. Giving one more clipped nod, he moved off, muttering something about needing to chat with Blackburn.

Clay watched his back as he left. The unsettled feeling returned. Fidgeting, he eyed the hammock. But he didn't feel like laying back down. Slowly he made his way towards Sonny, Brock and Trent, who were chatting animatedly side by side along one of the benches.

"Well looky here." Sonny pushed his cap brim up and winked at Clay. "Sleeping Beauty awakes."

Clay kicked his shin, plopped down beside him. Didn't reply.

"How's the arm?" Trent asked, leaning forward to peer around Sonny.

Clay shrugged. It was the least of his concerns. "Still there," he answered, leaning back out of view and closing his eyes.

"I was just telling these boys about an unfortunate experience I had with a bull back home when I was an insensible young man," the Texan explained.

Clay cracked open an eye. Huffed. "_Insensible_? Wow. That's a big word for you, Sonny."

Brock snorted a laugh.

"I was just getting to the good bit," Sonny continued, ignoring Clay's remark.

Clay let out a long breath as he listened to his friend launch back into the story. But he had trouble following, and instead let his gaze drift to a spot on the opposite side of the plane, retreating back into his own head.

He felt like a live wire. Emotionally charged. And his knuckles tingled like he wanted to hit something, despite the smattering of aches and bruises across his hands. If there'd been a punching bag available, he would have gone to town. He was tired, and sore, but he still felt on edge.

He lost himself in churning thoughts, and lost track of how long he stared at the wall. A bump to his shoulder from Sonny snapped his attention back to the present, and he realized he'd missed a punchline because the others were laughing, and Sonny was looking questioningly at him.

"Ground Control to Goldilocks," Sonny said, waving a hand in front of Clay's eyes. "Anyone home?"

Clay blinked, confused.

Trent eyed him. "Painkillers must've knocked him out more than I expected."

"Or he's become immune to Sonny's jokes," Brock offered, still smiling from the obviously hilarious story.

Clay squeezed a tight smile, but again it failed to reach his eyes. "Sorry," he said, trying to drag his attention back to the present.

Sonny raised a single brow, stared him down. Broke the gaze with a shake of his head.

Clay tried harder to pay attention to the conversation from then on, but it was difficult. And he didn't miss the side glances Sonny shot him, and the slight hint of concern shadowing his friend's features.

Clay tried to work out why he was feeling so rattled – so _off._ But he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

That was, until they landed.

When they landed, it became very clear why this mission had bothered him so much.

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Disembarking the plane into the blinding mid-afternoon sun, Clay split off from Sonny and the rest of the guys in the parking lot, heading towards his car to grab the sunglasses he'd forgotten on the dash.

But as he approached his vehicle, his steps faltered. His eyes snagged on a figure leaning casually against the trunk.

Clay's stomach dropped.

His jaw clenched.

His hands balled into tight fists at his sides.

He approached slowly, stopped short of his unwelcome visitor, and pinned him with a glare.

Ash Spenser pushed off the trunk, folded his arms across his chest and regarded his son.

After a few beats of icy silence, Clay grit out, "What the hell are you doing here?"

The older man unfolded his arms, gave a dramatic shrug. "Can't I come check up on my son?"

Clay worked his jaw, staring unblinking at his father. Ash was the last person he wanted to see right now. Hell, he was the last person Clay wanted to see – ever.

Ash took a step closer. "It's not that hard to return a damned phone call, Clay, or catch up for a beer." He eyed the bandage on Clay's forearm. "I was worried about you."

Clay felt himself shaking. Rage was beginning to bubble up, threatening to spill over. Puzzle pieces were clicking into place. "I told you to stay the hell away from me."

Ash scoffed. "I just-"

"What part of that did you not understand?" Clay's tone was dangerous.

Behind him, his brothers had heard the commotion, and began to gather silently like storm clouds. Their demeaner told of their readiness to back their boy, should the need arise. Cerberus let out a low growl, hackles up, and Brock had to work hard not to lose his grip as the dog strained against the leash.

They waited, leaving the ball in Clay's court as to how this would play out.

But as far as Clay was concerned, the gloves were off. He was feeling far too fragile and spent to rein his emotions in.

_This_ was the reason the mission had bothered him so much.

This asshole of a man before him.

Because in every one of those kids, Clay had seen a little bit of himself; a lost child, with too many bruises and haunted eyes. It would never matter how many tangos he schwacked, nor how many perfect kill shots he achieved - his very own monster still lived and breathed.

And that was far from okay.

He launched towards Ash, tasting the burn of sudden rage, stomach knotting. "How dare you pretend to care," he spat.

Ash stood his ground, squaring his shoulders.

Clay's voice shook as he ploughed on. "You're not my family." His words were laced with bitterness. "My family disappeared when my grandparents died. So, as I've said to you before - you can go tohell where you belong. Get the fuck out of my life."

"Clay -" Ash stepped forward, making the mistake of reaching out to touch Clay's shoulder.

Clay smacked his hand away before it reached its destination, jerked back violently. "Don't you fucking _touch_ me." He wanted so badly to pound his father to a pulp. His whole body convulsed with the effort it took to restrain himself. Years of anger and hurt bubbled up and over, engulfing him. "You want to know the real reason I enlisted? Why I wanted to be a SEAL?" His words were daggers, his breath hitched.

Jason had moved closer to Clay, stood protectively an arm's length behind him.

Clay pointed a trembling finger at his father. "It wasn't just to erase your footsteps." He swallowed jaggedly. "I enlisted so that I could learn to be the best. Because after you dumped me in Africa, I promised myself that if you _ever_ laid a hand on me again -" His voice faltered, stumbled. He clawed it back. "- I would be strong enough to beat the living shit out of you."

Sudden silence crashed between them.

Clay shook.

Jason went rigid, processing Clay's words, murderous gaze on the older Spenser like a gun locked and loaded.

The others inched closer, all of them pinning Ash with dangerous looks, daring him to try something, _anything_, to justify them taking him out.

But the elder Spenser wasn't stupid. He stood silently, regarding the group, eyes smoldering with anger. His jaw was rigid, chin semi-inclined. His steely gaze bore into Clay's.

Clay didn't flinch, or back down. Perhaps that look had worked on him once upon a time, but not anymore. And especially not today.

Eventually Ash nodded wryly, his expression cold. He wasn't going to win this one, but that didn't mean this was over.

Shaking more violently, Clay was losing his already questionable grip on the emotions battering him. His entire body ached. His chest hurt with unreleased pressure. Absently, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

And then Jason's voice came, low and threatening. "You need to leave," the Master Chief snarled, stepping between Clay and the older Spenser. "Right now. Before I sic the dog on you."

Ash arched a brow at Jason, and then eyed Cerberus – who growled, pulled harder on his leash.

"He's hungry," Brock commented, tone deadlier than Clay had ever heard it. "He likes the taste of asshole." He let the leash give a little.

Ash flinched slightly. Composed himself. Glared at Clay, and then at Jason. He opened his mouth to say something, but Sonny cut him off.

"I'll give the dog a run for his money." Lazy Texan drawl was replaced by something a lot darker. "You'd better fucking pray our paths don't cross after today."

Clay felt the heavy, reassuring presence of his brothers' solidarity at his back, as his father gave him one last frosty glance before turning stiffly on his heel, and stalking away.

His knees went weak, and he nearly crumpled in on himself, overwhelmed. Jason's grip tightened on his shoulder, and Clay was spun around to face his team leader.

"Clay," Jason was solely focused on him now. "Look at me." Tone commanding, but gentle.

Clay's eyes swam. His breath hitched worse than before. He rattled uncontrollably, completely spent.

He struggled to meet Jason's gaze. He kept wanting to look back towards his retreating father, desperate to ensure the man was gone.

"Clay," Jason insisted. "_Look_ at me."

Their eyes finally locked.

"He's gone," Jason told him steadily.

Clay bit his lip, nodding jerkily, eyes skipping to each of his brothers. Tears threatened to spill. He was losing the battle to hold them back.

Jason's hand on his shoulder tightened. The older man hesitated.

A heartbeat passed.

And then Clay felt himself pulled into a firm embrace, a calloused hand cupped at the back of his neck. His forehead dropped to Jason's shoulder and he squeezed his eyes closed, shoulders shaking as the tears broke free.

"It's okay," Jason said gently. He carded fingers through Clay's hair. "You don't have to explain anything. Just know we're here to listen if, and when, you're ready."

Another hand rested on his back. Clay felt the warmth through his shirt. "Ash may be your father," Ray's voice came, words unwavering. "But he's not your dad." There was a beat of silence, and then he clarified, "That title has to be earned."

"Damn straight," Sonny agreed.

Clay let his forehead rest on his team leader's shoulder for a moment longer. He was too tired to feel embarrassed. With his brothers around him, he felt safe. _Team is all the family you need_, Adam's words echoed through his thoughts. Never had he believed that as much as today.

Never had he felt so grateful for them.

Slowly he straightened, blinking red rimmed eyes and brushing away tears. Vaguely he noticed that he'd left a sizeable wet patch on Jason's shirt.

Jason held him gently by the shoulders, stepped back slightly to peer at him. "You good?"

Clay huffed, shook his head.

No.

Jason gave a gentle squeeze. "You will be." He sounded confident.

There was murmured agreement, a couple of reassuring pats to his back.

Cerberus nudged his hand, licked his fingers affectionately.

Sonny was the one to break the heavy silence that followed. "So," he said, drawing out the word. "I've got a bottle of whisky back at my place that I've been saving for a rainy day." He cleared his throat, glanced at the bright sky. "It's not exactly rainy, but I'm thinking today is as good as any to crack into it, anyone cares to join me."

Clay eyed Trent. He swallowed jaggedly, fishing for his voice. "Can I opt for hard liquor instead of my next dose of painkillers?" He asked, tone frayed and rough around the edges.

Sonny snaked an arm around his shoulders, drew him away from Jason and began moving him towards his truck. "I'm gonna go ahead an answer that one and say that you, my friend, may do whatever the hell you like."

Trent started to protest, but Sonny held up a hand to cut him off.

"Kid's had a rough day, Trent," the Texan argued without looking back. "Zip it."

Clay glanced over his shoulder at the medic, who was shaking his head.

"See you lot at my place then," Sonny called back, leading Clay on.

Clay was still shaking, but had regained a portion of his composure. His breathing wasn't as erratic. As much as he loved his brothers, he appreciated the privacy Sonny had given him by leading him away from the group. It gave him a chance to pick up the pieces and pull himself back together.

"You know," Sonny said, once they were out of earshot, his arm still around the younger man's shoulders. "When I was a kid, and I was having a bad day, my Grand-ninny used to give me one of those purple Otter Pop thingies. Always made me feel better."

Clay's lip quirked at the thought of mini-Sonny eating a grape flavoured ice stick.

"I'm not above hunting one down for you," the Texan whispered, genuinely.

Clay arched a brow at his best friend.

"That's what brothers do," Sonny explained with a shrug. "We look out for each other." He shook Clay affectionately, pulling him closer. "And you'd better believe it when I say I've got your back."

Clay huffed a small laugh, gave a clipped nod. He'd never doubted it.

They closed the rest of the distance to the truck, and Sonny released his protective hold. Clay paused at the passenger door. An Otter Pop didn't sound half bad. "Can I have a green one?" he asked as he climbed in, wincing as stiff muscles protested at the movement.

Sonny jabbed the key into the ignition, looked offended. "Who the fuck likes the green ones? No, you can't have a green one." He shook his head, levelled Clay with a serious look. "Purple, blue, red or pink are acceptable Otter Pop colours," he counted them off on his fingers.

Clay rolled his eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"You know it's the truth."

A beat passed.

"I'll have pink then."

Sonny's lip twitched into a grin. "Pink," he chuckled. "Of course you'd choose pink."

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Jason blew out a shaky breath as he watched Sonny pull out of the parking lot.

Beside him, Ray did the same.

"I'll talk to Blackburn," he said soberly. "Make sure Ash is banned from base. Pull whatever strings we need to pull."

Ray nodded in agreement. "And I'll chat to Derek, ask him to keep an eye out, in case the bastard ever shows up at Clay's apartment."

Jason's knuckles tingled, and he wanted to break something so badly. He settled for rubbing them instead. The sudden revelation that Clay's childhood had included physical abuse set his teeth on edge. And he could tell that the others were just as rattled.

Trent and Brock hovered. Cerberus whined and lay down with his head resting atop his front paws.

"You know, I'm not usually a vengeful man," Ray continued, his tone frigid. "But I swear to God, if I ever see Ash Spenser again …" His words trailed off.

Trent and Brock murmured their agreement.

Jason clenched his jaw. Speared Ray with a glance, let it skip to the others. His knuckle rubbing became painful. Not even Sonny's offer of whiskey was going to numb the anger now raging within him.

"Get in line," he stated venomously. "If that man is stupid enough to come near our boy again …" he worked his jaw, nodded jerkily to himself. "I'll personally send him to hell."

And it scared him how much he meant it.

Clay was their kid now, and they were damned protective of him.

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**End.**

**I'm banning myself from writing for a while now, until I catch up on my study! Lol.**


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